Wild Ride: A Bad Boy Romance (17 page)

“Katy!” said
Colton, expertly jumping off Sally Thunder.

“Colton!” said
Katy. “You came for me.”

“Of course I
did,” said Colton, putting his arms around her and holding her close.

“You didn’t go
through with the wedding?”

Colton shook
his head. “Of course not, Katy. I love you and want to be with you. To hell
with all that celebrity stuff.”

“But if you
don’t marry Sheila, you’re not going to be famous.”

“I don’t give a
damn,” said Colton. “I only want to be with you, Katy.”

“I only want to
be with you too, Colton.”

They kissed,
and continued kissing until the sun had completely set and the park was
enclosed in a peaceful darkness.

Two years had
passed since that disastrous fake wedding. Colton had returned the horse to his
friend, and bought him a few drinks to make up for it. They were buddies again,
palling around down at the rodeo arena.

Cambridge Whitehead
had been right. Colton had never become famous. Not only that, but his name was
never in any of the papers. Cambridge really did have a hold on the press, and
he was true to his word.

Meanwhile,
though, Colton continued as the #1 rodeo champion. He gained quite the loyal following
of other rodeo heads, people who really appreciated what he did as an art.

Neither Colton
nor I had any problems with him not being famous, being a complete unknown with
the sport.

In fact, we
both often talked about how nice it was. We got to live our peaceful life, away
from the bother of the press, away from hounding reporters. We could go dancing
and not be bothered by Colton’s’ fans. All the fans had drifted away now that his
name wasn’t in the papers at all anymore.

We both loved
it. We couldn’t have been happier.

Colton had
wanted to be a celebrity for job security, essentially. But he had grown more
careful in recent years…more carefully on the bull. And hadn’t been injured in
the slightest. Apparently that happened sometimes to older rodeo stars…they got
wiser and more careful in their later years.

Colton was
pulling in quite a bit of money as a rodeo star. He had to leave sometimes to
tour, but I often went with him, and found a lot of joy in exploring new cities
with him around the country.

Sara and I were
good friends again, and we had our wedding planning business back in full
swing. Since the reporters had already been at the wedding, Cambridge hadn’t
been able to suppress the fake wedding from getting into the papers. The upside
of the whole thing was that Sara and I had become instantly famous as wedding
planners. We had more clients than we knew what to do with, more than we could
handle.

Colton and I
had moved out of the city and into the country. We had a little farm house on a
ranch with more than 1000 acres. Colton had plenty of room to ride his horses
around, through the fields, and he was even teaching me to ride. He loved the
winding country roads for riding his motorcycle. He still had his beat up old
truck, although there was a new engine sitting in the front of it.

The flame of
our love had only grown stronger. We spent all the time we could together. We
still had wild all-night love making sessions. We liked to say that we had only
grown better at sex, and the sex had only grown more exciting, and more
interesting. We made occasional comments about having a baby together….we
figured we would wait and see what happened…let things happen naturally.

Oh, and we had
gotten married. How could I forget to mention that?

That was one
wedding I hadn’t planned. Sara had taken care of everything, and it had been a
truly magnificent wedding. It had been big, but not too fancy. Country style,
we liked to call it. We’d had it here on our ranch, in the bright sunlight in
one of the fields. Colton had worn his oldest and most battered cowboy hat.

THE END

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Roxy made
hand gestures to the guide, who did not speak English, to stay back.

This was
a clearing, in the forest. Roxy paused for a moment, but continued walking. She
looked back to see the guide sitting on a rock, facing the opposite direction.
He pulled out a tin of dipping tobacco and inserted some into his upper lip.

Roxy was
about to leave behind everything she had known. She knew that this was the
place. The place where it all began. And the place where it would end.

It had
taken her a whole month of hiking, walking through the uncharted wilderness,
fighting off beasts and sickness. Her body had begun to transform already
before her eyes. She had developed new strength, and her muscles had grown. She
was losing weight without trying to do so.

Stepping
into the clearing, Roxy felt something. It was an ancient thing. But it felt
new, and fresh, rejuvenating. It felt like something she had known briefly in
childhood and then forgotten.

In the
center of the clearing, there was a small stone statue of a pregnant woman
giving birth to a wolf. The statue must have been carved thousands and
thousands of years ago. It was beautiful, but roughly hewn. She could see the
dents and gashes where the ancient tool had worked at it again and again.

Roxy
intuitively knew what to do. Sylvan had not been able to give her any further
instructions. “You will know what to do when you get there, is what the natives
say,” he had told her. “They say that if you are meant to acquire the power,
you will know. If not, you must turn back, to avoid grave danger.”

Roxy knew
that she must pray, pray to the ancient spirits.

And she
had to pray in the most ancient way, the way humans had been praying for
millennia. She needed to masturbate.

Despite
the cold, Roxy undid her pants, and slid them down around her knees. She reached
down, touching her lips, which seemed to shrink against the cold. But soon she
was wet and warm, her lips opening like an Alaskan flower.

Roxy
thought of Herbert, and of his cock. She thought of their love making in his
apartment.

Roxy’s
fingers moved faster and faster.

The woods
were silent.

Roxy
came, experiencing an orgasm more powerful than any she had ever experienced
before.

She felt
something happening. The orgasm continued. Her body felt wrecked by the waves
of pleasure shooting through it. She fell to the forest floor, where she felt
the pine needles and smelled their scent.

The waves
of pleasure continued, unabated.

Months
earlier, Roxy was in her office at New Jersey College. Roxy was working late
that night at the office. Her office light was the only one on in the entire
building. Even the janitor, Bill, had left for the night. Bill was completely
bald on top, with scraps of hair hanging down to his shoulders. He and Roxy had
had a brief office affair, if you could call it that.

It was
more like Bill had fucked her one night on her office table, after everyone
else had left. Things had been weird between them after that. And Bill hadn’t
even emptied her trash for a full two weeks after. She’d had to resort to
dumping the trash out the window. She was on the second floor. It wasn’t too
bad to watch the pieces of paper floating down the ground. Actually, it had
been the highlight of her day.

Roxy was
a professor of Archeology at New Jersey College. They were only twenty miles
from the beach, but Roxy never got to go. For one thing, she was ashamed of her
body. Roxy was a pretty big woman. She weighed almost 300 pounds. She was
really curvy. And she hated the way she looked.

But the
thing about Roxy’s appearance was that men liked her. Men found her sexy. She
had big boobs, and a big but. Men liked feeling like they could really grab
onto something when they penetrated her. And Roxy had a beautiful face. She had
clear skin. She was her own makeup expert. She knew how to make her cheeks look
even more chiseled. Her jawline was naturally clean and strong, yet feminine.

Roxy was
plump and sexy. She’d had plenty of one-night stands. Or more like a series of
sexual encounters. Usually she felt too embarrassed after sex, and wanted to
leave right away. She was a very confident woman. But she didn’t feel confident
after sex. She liked to be aggressive during sex, and to shout, and scream, and
moan loudly. Afterwards, she always felt self-conscious about her big body. It
felt like the sheets weren’t big enough to cover her. And afterwards she didn’t
like the feeling that she had been completely free and expressive during sex.

But Roxy
liked that free feeling. So she went from sexual encounter to sexual encounter,
never sleeping with the same partner more than once.

Roxy
didn’t have a date tonight. It was Friday. Roxy had been big since her
childhood. Her therapist had told her it was a reaction to her alcoholic
father, who had

abused
her mother. He often would get drunk and throw things at Roxy. All sorts of
things. Telephones, shoes, ironing boards, even mattresses.

She
wasn’t sure the therapist was right. It was hard for her to blame her father.
He’d had a tough life, working in a fish factory. Alcohol had been his only
escape. Her mother had withdrawn.

Maybe the
therapist was on to something, though. Maybe there was an emotional component
to Roxy’s weight. Roxy knew she didn’t eat too much. In fact, she barely ate
anything at all. For one thing, she was embarrassed to eat in front of anyone.
She didn’t like to imagine what they were thinking about her, about what she
was eating. Roxy probably ate less than anyone she knew. And she weighed almost
twice as much as everyone else. Twice as much as anyone she’d slept with.

The moon
was up and the streetlights were shining. Roxy was looking through some old
records, trying to find a topic to write about for her next academic paper. She
didn’t have tenure yet at the college. She’d been told by her advisor, a sexy
but greying man in his late 50s, that she’d need to publish something really
good to stay on the staff. The archeology department was looking for some new
blood. Students these days weren’t interested in archeology anymore. The
subject was just too old for them. They couldn’t understand anything from
before ten years ago, let alone something from well before when they were born.

The
department wanted to get some fresh new ideas, or some fresh new professors,
who could connect with the students. It was only that way that the department
could stay afloat and the professors could keep their jobs.

Now, Roxy
needed to write something exciting. She needed to make a completely new find in
a very old field. Something so new it would blow everything else out of the
water. If she didn’t, she’d lose her job and wind up working again at the 711
she’d worked at during her grad school years.

The hours
were long, lonely, and boring.

Sighing,
Roxy pushed aside a huge stack of books she’d taken from the library. The
librarian was constantly joking with her, asking what in the world she was
trying to discover with these old books. They had been written a hundred years
ago. Books by old explorers. Books by old white men who were now dead,
basically. Everything in them had already been combed over by a hundred other
professors. Nothing new had ever been found.

How was
Roxy supposed to find something new in something so old?

The books
feel behind her desk with a loud clunk.

Great,
now she had to somehow get behind the desk. It was hard for Roxy to bend over.
Her boobs were getting so heavy, it felt like she was carrying a huge baby on
her chest. Bending over was always difficult. And she had back problems too.

One of
the books remained on the table. Sighing again, Roxy opened it up, flipping
aimlessly through it. She was completely disheartened. She might as well go and
apply to the 711 right now. There wasn’t much point in waiting around for them
to fire her. She could see herself now, facing a panel of the other archeology
professors, all of whom were men.

Roxy
imagined how they would talk to her sternly, while reviewing the papers in
front of them. All of her hard academic work would go up in smoke. The papers
and books she’d written would be filed in some dark corner of the library, and
never read again. She’d be pouring Slurpees while some young new man took her
lecturing place.

Roxy had
a really good visual memory. She liked to imagine things visually. What would
happen if, during the review meeting, she got down on her knees under the long
panel table, and unzipped the pants of each of her colleagues? She’d reach in
and delicately pull out their soft penises. Meanwhile, they’d keep reading
their declaration, explaining why Roxy needed to be fired. She’d tug on each
cock until it started to get hard. Then she’d move onto the next one, and the
next one. The men would be trying to maintain composure, trying hard to keep
concentrating on firing Roxy. They’d all be nodding along in unison, as the
speaker stumbled over his words, trying to mask the little moaning sounds he
was making.

Each of
the professors would become aroused at the sounds the other men were making,
and at the thought that there were five hard penises throbbing under the table.
Roxy was becoming a little aroused, just thinking about it.

The phone
rang. It snapped Roxy out of her daydream. “Hello?” she said, picking up the
receiver.
“Good evening. I’m trying to reach Mr. Slotheropes.” “He’s my
boss. But he’s not working now,” said Roxy.

“That’s
fine,” said the man on the other end of the phone. “Could you ask him to give
me a call when he comes in, please?” His voice was polite and delicate. Roxy
wondered how big his penis was. She always found herself wondering these types
of things, and she always felt bad about it afterwards. She wasn’t supposed to
be thinking these thoughts about strangers. What did they think about her, when
they were talking to her on the phone? They were probably hoping she was a
skinny little college student, with perky little breasts just peaking out of
her crop top.

Roxy took
the number down on a scrap of paper, and hung up the phone.

She
looked at her desk again. She picked up the dusty old book again. She started
reading.

It was a
first hand account of an explorer who had traveled into the Alaskan wilderness
in the early 1900s. He had met with the natives. He wrote about their customs.
He wrote about food, and the dogs, and the weather. It was so boring, it was
hardly any wonder students weren’t interested in archeology.

The
writer of the book was an archeologist himself. Roxy flipped to the beginning
of the book. The introduction explained what his goals were. He had headed to
Alaska, a dangerous journey at that time. He had traveled by boat, horse, dog
sled, and eventually by foot.

Roxy kept
flipping. The book was mostly just travel notes, and racist remarks about the
native populations. The archeologist hadn’t thought much of their intelligence,
or their way of life. He didn’t seem to understand that a different way of life
was legitimate. Mostly he wrote about the all-meat diet he was adopting. And he
wrote about how old the woman had looked, with their wrinkled skin. Roxy felt
disgusted by his overly male attitude. He just cared about eating meat,
shooting animals, and analyzing the women’s bodies.

But there
was one thing that caught Roxy’s eye. There was a little diagram in one of the
footnotes of the book. It was an old black and white photograph of some
footprints that the explorer had taken. The photograph was poorly reproduced in
the book. It was hard to make out exactly what it was.

But the
prints were very strange. They were those of a man in traditional sandals. Then
they turned into the footprints of a bear. Roxy’s personal academic specialist
was analyzing footprints. She knew all there to know about footprints. Or, she
knew all there was to know about ancient footprints.

Because
her specialty was listed on the department website, she had been contacted once
by the police. They had been looking for information regarding a murder case
that they couldn’t solve. Unfortunately, Roxy had had to tell them that she
wasn’t really any good with modern footprints. The forensics people knew much
more than she did. They were able to look at the footprints and know things
about the person’s weight and gender. To Roxy, all the prints just looked like
Nike sneakers.

But Roxy
was really good with early human footprints. And animal footprints. She even
studied dinosaur footprints.

These
footprints were nothing like what she had ever seen. Because of the tread
pattern and the space between the footprints, it looked as if the man had
suddenly turned into a bear as he was walking.

Roxy got
up and turned on the overhead office light. She turned on the other desk light.
She bent down to get a better look at the prints. It wasn’t a great
reproduction of the photo. But there was still enough detail to get the
information she needed.

Using a
small ruler and a mathematical compass, Roxy was able to get the measurements
she needed. She tallied them up on a little scrap of paper. She measured the
distance between the prints. Because of the depth of each print, she was able
to calculate the approximate velocity of the man. This was really weird. Roxy
measured again. There wasn’t any doubt. There just wasn’t any doubt. As an
academic, Roxy knew she had to follow the evidence. The man who had made these
footprints had turned into a bear while walking. She didn’t have any doubt.

Roxy
signed. They’d never believe her. She barely believed herself. How could it be
possible? People didn’t turn into bears. But then Roxy thought back to an
anthropology course she’d had in undergrad. They’d been covering native
beliefs. And the natives across the world had believed that humans could turn
into animals to go to special missions. Not every human, of course. But certain
people had figured it out. They were generally known as shamans. While the word
was different across different cultures, every culture had the concept of the
Shaman. He was a person, sometimes male, sometimes female, who took plants and
drugs to get into altered states of consciousness. Usually they were believed
to be able to inhabit the body of an animal many miles away, while still
looking as if they were sitting there in a trance. Sometimes the cultural
belief was that the shaman could actually turn into a physical animal. Roxy
wondered what the indigenous people of Alaska, the Inuit, had believed.

Roxy felt
stressed. She felt weird. This was a really weird thing to think, that a man
could turn into a bear. Was she going crazy? Was she trying desperately to find
something that would save her job, some crazy new discovery?

Roxy did
what she always did when she felt stressed. She lifter her hips up from her
seat, trying to hold the rolling chair in place. She undid the buttons on her
jean skirt, and slid the skirt down around her hips.

She
reached down and touched herself gently on her inner thigh. She touched the
outer rim of her vagina. She could feel that she was already wet, already
dripping. She put finger inside herself, and felt the warm wetness. She
imagined what the cock of the man on the phone must have been like. She
imagined it being 7 inches long, and thicker than average, with a bit of precum
oozing out of the end that throbbed and seemed to hum in excitement.

She moved
her hand up and touched her clit, rubbing it gently. She imagined that she was
at the call center, lying on the floor under the desk of the man who had
called. He was trying to make a phone call while penetrating her with his 7
inch long penis. He was overcome with desire, and pierced her again and again,
with long powerful thrusts.